Tale as Old as Time
by PirateNinjaCJS
Summary: A scene from the Beauty and the Beast that I wish had been done in the show. Birthday ficlet, harmless Dark Castle fluff. "Milady . . . may I be so honored as to have this first dance?" Rumbelle.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello friends! So the reason I've been silent for so long is a combination of school, lack of inspiration, and watching three seasons of Once Upon A Time. So, yeah, my apologies. This little ficlet started out as a one shot, but ended up being over nearly 5000 words, so I decided to make it into a four-part one shot of a scene that was in the Disney movie but not in the show. Harmless Dark Castle fluff, please review because I love them :)**

**Love you guys,**

**Beth x**

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Belle didn't tell him it was her birthday. She wouldn't dream of it, even after the odd kindness he'd shown with the thief and the library. He had moments of kindness, she'd discovered, but he chose to hide them as often as possible, to keep them tucked away behind impish snickers and elaborate gestures, and while they made her laugh, she wished he would let the kindness show more often. It was tiring, trying to keep up with him. He always had the mask on, except maybe for when he was spinning. In those moments, she could watch without him even being aware, watch his teasing façade drop and give way to a lost, concentrated look as the wheel spun and his spidery hands moved, seemingly without him willing them to do so.

Still, she woke up excited, in the bed he'd given her shortly after the library. Brushed her hair, tied it to the side, put on her usual blue maid's dress. She hummed as she made his breakfast. She wouldn't tell him, but perhaps today he would sense that she felt like being happy, and thus be kind in return. A girl could only hope.

She greeted him with a "good morning" and a smile, gently placing the breakfast tray in front of him before twirling away to fetch the second tray which held his beloved tea set. When she'd brought it out, poured him and herself a cup (he got the chipped one this time, and while he said nothing on the subject, she knew he noticed), he gestured for her to sit. She did.

"I need you to be out of the castle today, dearie," he began. Her smile faded a little at the sneering, high-pitched lilt in his voice, the one she was coming to know and not-like. "I've some important business to attend to, which will take me til sundown. So," and here he jumped to his feet, "I've arranged for you to work in the castle gardens."

"O-oh." Belle barely stopped herself from looking disappointed. She hadn't wanted to spend the day with him anyway, not really. She forced a smile. "Well, it'll be lovely to spend the day outside, thank you, Rumpelstiltskin."

He squinted at her for a couple of moments. "Well, you could look happier about it," he said, motioning with his hand a little.

This time, her smile was real. "I am happy, sorry. Just . . . not feeling particularly well."

He stared at her again before waving his hand. A cloud of purple mist engulfed her, and when it cleared, she felt exactly the same. The wizard looked down at his hands as if reading results. "Well, there's nothing remotely wrong with you, except that you haven't eaten anything," he said, looking confused.

"I'll have a bit of breakfast before I go out," she replied.

"Good."

When they'd both eaten, Belle found herself being led to a back door that she'd never opened before. Rumpelstiltskin looked at her before opening it. He had a strange look on his face, but she didn't pay much attention.

The fresh air made her dizzy, and she had to blink a few times in the bright light before taking in the scene before her. A cobbled stone path wound through squares upon squares of flower beds. Roses, gardenias, violets, poppies, tulips, lilies; there didn't seem to be any order, just hundreds of flowers. Every now and then, a tall oak or maple tree punctuated the path, forcing the walker to step around it in order to continue their journey through the garden. Water fountains lined some of the flower beds, arranged in some intricate, unseeable pattern so as to all flow together into a single pond that appeared to be the centre of the entire design.

When she turned back to Rumpelstiltskin, she had to fight to keep the smile on her face smaller than she wanted it to be. His own eyes flicked away from her the moment she faced him, looking down at his leather boots that kicked (nervously?) at the edge of the stone path.

"It's beautiful," she offered, and he looked up with that familiar sneer placed carefully over his face.

"Well, I've never been one for flowers myself, but they just seemed to come with the castle."

She stoppered a sigh. "So, what are my duties for the day?"

This seemed to be a better conversation starter; he jumped forward and began pointing wildly at different areas of the garden, talking at such a rapid pace that she could barely keep track of all the tasks he was rattling off; weed all the flower beds, clean the water fountains, feed the fish in the pond, pull out any flowers that don't look like they should be there (whatever that meant), make sure the soil around the trees is the right texture, prune the bushes, and don't even think about putting all the leaves in the pond, dearie, he'd find out for sure, and then she'd be in for it.

And then he was gone before she had time to ask questions, popping out of sight without even a puff of smoke to alert her that he was leaving.

Belle shook her head and wandered to the middle of the garden, crouching down by the pond. She dipped her fingers in the surface, and smiled at the small fish which came up to nibble at them. When she turned around, an enormous basket sat in the centre of the path, filled with all manner of gardening tools, including a hedge clippers, gloves and fish food. Belle sighed, and got to work.

Half way through the day, as she was viciously attacking one of the rose bushes with the clippers, another, smaller basket appeared on the corner of the flower bed. Its contents were wrapped in a red cloth, on top of which lay a tiny scroll of parchment. Curiously, she wiped her brow of sweat, removed her gloves, and opened it.

_Time for a break, dearie. Don't worry about my lunch or tea today._

_R_

When she looked up again, she was sitting on the ground next to the pond, the red cloth forming a blanket for her to sit on and the contents of the basket spread out in front of her; bread, ham, olives, cheese, a glass bottle filled with water and an apple. She laughed out loud, and looked towards the castle, where nothing moved inside. She closed her eyes, and silently whispered his name in her mind, wishing desperately for him to come outside and join her, but there was no pop or swirl of smoke, and after another minute, she gave up and ate the meal by herself.

Belle was exhausted by the time the sun was going down. Who ever would have guessed that a little gardening would be such tiring work? The basket Rumpelstiltskin had given her at the beginning of the day seemed to have expanded as the branches and flowers and leaves she'd removed filled it up; when she tried to lift the thing, she could barely move an inch, and so she left it in the middle of the path where it had appeared, knowing that whatever price the magic to move it was, she'd already paid it off through hours of labour. Hot and tired, she began to trudge towards the back door, only to find it unbendingly and infuriatingly locked. She huffed, and barely avoided hurling herself at it in an undignified frenzy, rather choosing to slump at the base of the wood and yell his name at the awning above. Another tiny scroll appeared in her hands.

_Five more minutes._

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**Hope y'all liked it, let me know!**


	2. Chapter 2

She stared at it for a few moments before crumpling it up and banging her head gently back against the door. If she'd been back at her father's palace, she'd be in her dressing room with several maids prepping her for her birthday ball. Twenty-four wasn't a significant age by any means, but as a princess, every birthday was received with the utmost extravagance and celebration. Her dress probably would have been one of traditional ruby, her neck and wrists and ears and hair dripping with jewels; princes would have been coming from nameless countries, with unabashed hopes of winning her hand, for beauty or for kingdom alliances, despite her engagement to Gaston. Perhaps, if her day had been spent with Rumpelstiltskin, she could have said honestly she was glad to be here rather than there, but as it was . . . she could not help thinking wistfully on the company she would be in were she at the palace.

The door swung open behind her, and she almost fell backwards.

Rising to her feet and smoothing down her dress, Belle made her way through the castle to the main dining hall where she knew Rumpelstiltskin would be waiting. As she gently pushed open the last door, she looked at her feet, refraining from searching for him with wanting eyes. He would come to her if he wanted attention.

She glanced up for a brief second, and he came into view, a lot closer than she expected.

And she looked.

And she saw.

And she stared.

The hall was adorned with candles; they sat in rows on the window sills, the stair case, the shelves, and hung suspended by magic upside down from the ceiling, not a single drop of wax escaping. The dining table was meticulously laid with a red cloth, two plates set, one at either end, complete with rows of silver cutlery and exquisite wine glasses. In the middle was a huge tureen of steaming soup, and all manner of breads, meats, cheeses and marinated vegetables, enough food to feed an army. The corner of the room usually taken up by her master's spinning wheel – why, she'd never seen it anywhere else – was occupied by a cluster of instruments; a cello, a violin, a harp, a flute and a double bass, standing without instrumentalists to hold them up. The walls were adorned with hangings of gold thread, woven meticulously to form tresses that just barely brushed the floor.

And then she looked at Rumpelstiltskin again, and her jaw nearly dropped.

He was wearing . . . she didn't know. She'd never seen him in anything other than his thick, scaly vests with the high collars that did nothing but contribute to his foreboding façade. But now . . . now he was clothed in a low v-neck vest over what she presumed to be a white cotton shirt. Over this was a deep blue dress jacket, complete with gold trimming and tails that hung just below his rather superb behind; his pants were just as black as usual, but not made of leather, and his boots were more simple, without the pointy details. His hair was just as untamed as always, his eyes just as beady, his skin just as thick and textured, and none of it mattered a single bit because he was looking at her with a smirk that wasn't part of his usual act, but one of _you didn't see this coming_ and _I got you_. In his hand was a small box wrapped in red paper and a gold silk ribbon. Her eyes finally met his.

"Happy birthday, dearie," he said, and even though he used his showman's voice, the look on his face told her he'd wanted to say her name.

She could barely speak. "Rumpel . . . I-I don't know what to say . . ."

He gave her a look and clicked his fingers at her. That familiar purple mist engulfed her body, cool and soothing as it swirled around her; she couldn't see what it was doing, but as it dissipated, she felt clean again, devoid of sweat and aches. And when she looked down, she nearly cried, for she was wearing the dress, the one they'd met in, only better, new and improved; a more dazzling gold, more extravagant detail in the beading, more flattering in the waist and chest, puffing out in the skirt which had been so deflated last time she'd worn it. Reaching up to touch her hair, she found it silky and smooth and laced with the gold thread he spent so much time spinning, done up in that twirling, half-bun style she loved so much and saved for special occasions. Pressing her lips together, she felt a thin sheen of make-up coating them, and knew her eyes were the same; so little that one would hardly notice it, but enough to accentuate her features, just as she would have chosen had she applied it herself.

She gave up on speaking, and flung her arms around him, the Dark One, her master, the man who had so many titles and made so many deals and hurt so many people, all because no one had showed him love in such a long, _long_ time. But to her he was Rumpelstiltskin, the man of strange kindness who hadn't quite figured out how to deliver a proper smile and could only express feelings in overwhelming displays of magic. And so she held him for just a little longer than might be deemed appropriate, and whispered a thank you into his tangled mess of hair, and when she pulled away, he was looking at her with such wonder and disbelief that she thought she might cry again.

So she laughed instead, breathy and excited. "How did you _do_ all this," she exclaimed, suddenly needing a reason to pull away from him. She looked up at the ceiling, marvelling at how the candles just hung there, superbly bright and never dripping.

He gave an amused snicker, and the tension was gone. "Well, you must know the answer to that, dearie."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, magic, I know, but . . . how did you think it all up?"

"I'll tell you over dinner," he grinned, extending an arm to her with a short bow. Blushing now, she took it, and let him lead her over to one end of the table, let him pull out her chair and help her into it. Watching as he made his way to the other end – it suddenly seemed so far away – she couldn't keep the smile off her face. Not that she wanted too.


	3. Chapter 3

Rumpelstiltskin clapped his hands together, and the food came to life; the pot of soup elevated and stopped next to her, the ladle lifting up to tip a generous serving into her bowl before speeding down to the other end of the table. The bread knife started slicing of its own accord, and before long, both their plates were full and the food had settled back in the middle of the table again.

Belle looked up at him, beaming.

"Shall we start, then?" he asked.

She squinted at him. "What was that?" she called in an overly loud voice. "I can't hear your from all the way down here, you'll have to speak up."

He glared at her, waved his hand, and appeared in his chair at her left elbow, his entire meal before him as well and not a drop of soup spilled. She nodded her approval.

"Much better."

He gave a small tilt of his head and raised his glass to her. "To Belle, on this very special day," he stated simply, and she refused to acknowledge the way her stomach jumped when he said her name.

"To Rumpelstiltskin, the man," and here she looked pointedly at him, "who made a princess a maid, and then treated her like a princess anyway."

They clinked their glasses together, and ate.

Dinner took a beautifully long time to finish; when the soup wash finished, the dishes disappeared and were replaced by a flawless lemon tart which Rumpelstiltskin cut without magic and waved the platter away as soon as they each had a slice on their new, clean plates. Conversation ebbed and flowed in a pulsating motion, the silences sometimes awkward, but mostly just comfortable as the two ate. When the tart was finished, it was replaced by their tea set – it must be called their tea set by now – and he poured hers into the chipped cup and set it before her with a knowing smile that turned her hands to jelly and almost made the cup slip from her hands for a second time; but he caught it with magic, and giggled and teased her about how clumsy she was, and it was all undeniably perfect.

"Now," Rumpelstiltskin began when the tea had finally been finished and cleared away (no doubt it was all waiting in the kitchen to be washed up), "a birthday is not a birthday without four things, the first two of which are pleasant company and exquisite food, and I do believe we have succeeded in enjoying both." She had trouble stopping herself from gaping at his eloquent speech as he continued. "The third, however, is a gift, and I would have given it to you before dinner, but you unfortunately knocked me over so – " from beneath the table, he produced the small, red-wrapped, gold-ribboned box, and handed it gingerly over, shifting closer to her in his seat and leaving his forearms resting on the table, very close to hers. "Happy birthday, Belle." Her breathing was shallow, but she ignored her light-headedness and smiled up at him, turning the gift over. He was avoiding her eyes, looking down at their hands (so, so close together), nervously licking his lips in a way that made her stomach clench. His gaze darted up to her. "Well, open it."

She laughed and slowly began to untie the ribbon, unfold the paper. As she pulled them away, a black velvet box was revealed. She didn't need to look at Rumpelstiltskin to know he was watching her closely.

Lifting the lid, she gave a sharp intake of breath upon seeing the necklace that it held. The chain was undeniably spun by him, but it was the pendant that caught her attention. About the size of her thumb-nail, it was a perfectly sculpted rose, made of pale pink . . . it almost looked like diamond, though she dared not believe that. It was backed by gold plating, and she held it tenderly as she lifted it out of the box. "Rumpel, it-it's stunning!" she breathed.

He was staring at her when she looked up at him, and a moment passed before he blinked rapidly and tentatively reached forward. "Let me put it on for you," he said, with such uncertainty that it almost sounded like a question. Without hesitation, she turned her back to him, sweeping her hair over her shoulder and handing him the necklace as she did so. His left hand reached across her throat briefly and brought the chain around, and as he fumbled with the clasp at the base of her neck, she could feel his warmth but not his breathing, and she fought a smile at knowing that she wasn't the only one holding her breath.

"Thank you," she said, turning back to him, wanting to express her thanks with more words, but being stopped by the look on his face. He was almost gaping at her, his eyes wide and so full of wonder that she could not help thinking it was not just the necklace he thought to be beautiful.

After a long minute, he cleared his throat. "It, ah . . . it suits you," he muttered. Another tense pause, and then he clapped his hands, grinning. "But that's not all it does!" he exclaimed, and it was he showman's voice, but a special one, just for her. "If I may," he said, pointing at the necklace.

She looked at him in bemusement. "Um . . . yes?"

He almost leapt forward to touch the pendant, and she jerked a little at the sudden closeness. But then, as fast as he'd come towards her, he leant back, watching her with an excited little smirk on his face as she stared down at the rose. A tiny hole seemed to click open in its centre, and as she watched, pink mist flooded out of it and down on to the table in front of her. When the rose had been emptied of mist, it clicked shut again, and the substance swirled and solidified and cleared away to reveal . . . a book.

She picked it up, and opened to the first page. "The Snow Child," she read. She looked up at Rumpelstiltskin. "What is it?" she asked.

He shrugged. "It's a book, dearie! How am I to know what it's about?"

She giggled and turned to the next page, where the story began. Rolling his bug-eyes, Rumpelstiltskin reached over and took it from her before she could read even the first word. "Hey!" she protested.

"Ah, ah, ah. I'm explaining," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her. She sat back, and gave him a patient look. "This book," he said, motioning towards it, "is unlike any book you've ever known, dearie. Each time you touch the centre of that rose and think of the story which means to most to you, it will open, and the book will come out. However, each time it comes out, its pages will be filled with a different tale, a different – " he paused for dramatic effect – "adventure, as you so like to call them." He sat back again, looking pleased with himself.

Belle beamed at him. "What story did you think about, just then?" she asked.

"I created it, dearie, the rules don't apply to me."

And even though she knew he wasn't telling the truth, she didn't push him, because he would have told her if he'd wanted to.

She cleared her throat. "Now," she said, in a business-like tone, biting back a grin as he straightened automatically. "You mentioned something about a fourth element to a perfect birthday?"

He seemed torn between wanted to run away like a shy school-boy or to jam up his showman façade, and when his next words came, Belle was overjoyed to find he'd chosen a mixture of the two. "Well, what do you think the instruments are for?" he said, jumping to his feet. His eyes darted around the room before landing on her, and with a single swipe of his hand, the table disappeared. She felt nervous at the lack of solid wood to separate them.

At another snap of his fingers, the instruments into the corner sprung to life, filling the hall with rich, wonderful music; a waltz, if Belle wasn't very much mistaken. She stared at him as he bowed.

"Milady . . . if I may be so humble as to ask for this first dance?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Heeeeeey guys, will you hate me if I tell you that I legitimately forgot about this story? Sorry. This weird thing called real life got in the way, it was very strange. But yeah, my profuse apologies, and just so y'all know, this final installment of this little ficlet occurs in a headcannon that "true love's kiss" only works if both parties involved have admitted to themselves that they are truly in love. In this case, neither Rumple nor Belle have until maybe a little bit right at the very end . . . you'll understand hopefully by the end of the chapter.**

**Please review with your thoughts, hope you liked it :)**

"Milady . . . if I may be so humble as to ask for this first dance?"

And because she had no idea what to do, she gave a breathless laugh, and Rumpelstiltskin snapped out of his stance looking hurt and frightened and confused all at the same time, and she realised almost too slowly what he'd assumed, that she thought he was being stupid, that she could never possibly want to dance with him. But, for the first time in her life, she fixed the problem before it started; she was standing in front of him in an instant, her hands holding his and pressing his right one to her waist before resting her left on his shoulder, looking him directly in the eyes and apologising frantically. "I-I am so sorry, Rumpel, I wasn't laughing at you, it's just . . . it's all this, I never could have dreamed for anything more, and I never expected to dance again, it's all just come as such a surprise and I'm so excited and if I could have any handsome prince in the world to dance with right now, I would still choose you." The words tumbled out of her mouth and into the small space of air that separated them, and the look of relief and shock that flooded his face was worth her clumsiness and heavy blush.

Almost simultaneously, they reached an unspoken agreement, and his grip tightened on her waist, and both pairs of eyes flicked down to their feet then back up to each other, and the beauty and the not-quite-beast danced.

It was careful and tentative at first, full of clumsy steps and breathy apologies. And then, they both seemed to remember, and they moved together across the hall without each looking anywhere but at the other, her dress swirling out behind her and his feet sure and swift as he guided her through each turn and step. And the instruments kept playing, piece after piece, until Belle and Rumpelstiltskin were left swaying in the middle of the room to a quiet, slow melody, standing much closer together than when they had started. Belle rested her chin on his shoulder, he leaned his cheek into her hair; her hands had moved to the base of his neck, while his arms were both wrapped around her waist, holding her to him with disbelieving tenderness. Belle's body felt like trembling, but Rumpelstiltskin's hold was so sure that she couldn't.

Finally, the instruments stopped, and so did they, but neither pulled away.

"Belle," he murmured into her hair.

"Mm?"

His grip on her waist tightened for a brief moment before his arms slid away and he took hold of her hips, gently prying her away from his body. She was free to tremble now, and from his shaky exertion of breath as he bowed again, so was he. "It was an honour, Belle French, to spend your birthday evening with you. I-I do hope you enjoyed it."

She smiled at him, and for some reason felt the need to cry. "Rumpel, I – "

And he disappeared in a puff of purple smoke.

She couldn't help the cry of outrage that sprung from her lips as she spun in a frantic circle. "Rumpelstiltskin!" she yelled. Tears threatened, but she held them back. She had to stay calm. "Rumpel, I know you can hear me. Please, please don't ruin this. I promise you, I-I'm just as scared as you are, only I don't have the ability to run away." She was speaking to the ground now, pacing towards the roaring fireplace, but this was his castle, his hall, his creation, he'd be able to hear her. "I have no idea what this is, but there is no one else that I would rather be with than you right now. And of all the nights to leave me on my own . . . Rumpelstiltskin, you have made this the happiest day of my life, and you're about to ruin it if you don't come back in the next few seconds."

She waited.

Three seconds passed.

And then six.

And then another ten.

And just as Belle crumpled to her knees in front of the blazing fire, two spidery hands caught her and awkwardly pulled her up by the elbows, and she threw composure to the wind and fell into his arms, clinging and swaying and loving how he was holding her just as tight.

"I'm never letting go of you again, if you're just going to keep disappearing," she murmured into his shoulder, and he squeezed her.

"I'm sorry."

She pulled back a little, so they were face to face, so he could see the tears and hopefully feel a little guilty for them. "Good."

And just like that, they were kissing, and neither one knew why, or how, or what it was, and neither let themselves admit to anything more than deep, passionate affection, but it was beautiful.

The next morning, Belle woke up in his bed, curled around him like a cat, and watched him sleep. His whole face changed when he slept – the creases smoothed, the brow pulled out of its deep frown. The lips slightly parted, not by his will but by natural instinct. She kissed them, and lay back down on his shoulder, and didn't see Rumpelstiltskin's eyes fly open or his skin changing a little before going back to the usual bumpy, lizard texture. She ignored the faster thumping of his heart beneath her ear, passed it off as him being surprised to waking up with her lying on his chest, curled in his arms.

Rumpelstiltskin came so close to flinging her body away from him. But he didn't. He held her tighter, and let her be for a bit longer, and didn't need the power right at that moment.

Belle stirred, and blinked sleepily up at him. "Good morning," she smiled.

He grunted a response.

She sighed. "What was the name of the final piece we danced to last night?" she wandered out loud, looking at him expectantly.

He shrugged. "Tale as Old as Time, or some likewise nonsense."

Shifting against him, Belle smiled again into his chest before touching the rose at her neck and watching as the book appeared in her hands. "Once upon a time," she began.

**Hahaha DO YOU NEED SOME CRACKERS WITH THAT CHEESE? Ah well, it was necessary. Keen for Season 4. Laters skaters.**

**Beth xxx**


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